Wicked Game
by TotemundTabu
Summary: A collection of PruAus and AusPru oneshots.
1. Chapter 1

**1. Ignite**

_Do you spend your whole life_  
_trying to get back home?_  
_Where do you go?_  
Berlin, Without Return - Voxtrot

1918, Vienna

"Do what you want."  
His voice seemed powerless, stranded, surrendered.  
It did not look even her.  
Gilbert let out a little laugh, as in order to hide being nervous, "Hey ... these are not words to say to a ... how did you call me last time? Oh yes, a beast. A beast like me."  
The pianist drew a slow glance, full of contempt.  
"I don't care."  
He returned to place the books in the library, as if to change the position of Goethe could solve his pains. He frowned eyebrows, picking up a book.  
"... why did I put Novalis next to Eichendorff?"  
Gilbert rolled his eyes, and then muttered, "Maybe you did it during another psychosomatic cleaning attack?"  
"Would you make me the courtesy to shut up?"  
"You know teasing you is my raison d'être."  
"Go to hell."  
He said it meaning it.  
Watching Gilbert with his watery eyes and his voice folded into a exasperated ashen rage.  
Gilbert bit his lip; he always loved how Roderich was like flammable ice, but now he seemed to have burned in centuries of struggle.  
"Come on, dandy, this pitch doesn't suit you ..."  
Roderich lunged at him, taking him by the collar of his shirt, pulling it out. He had his eyes again loaded of fire- but a slimy fire, a glint of sharp, almost next to wickedness.  
"You won, Gilbert. You won, go get your damn reward and leave me alone."  
"But what the hell are you talking about?"  
Gilbert's gaze was still onRoderich's lips, usually so softly buttoned, and now suddenly crooked, vicious, which opened in a grimace of fury, leaving slowly discovered the teeth.  
Undone.  
Close to collapse.  
"You must be kidding me," he hissed.  
He was more beautiful than ever.  
But Gilbert felt his heart bending.  
"Liza. - Roderich clenched his fists and teeth, almost felt bad, trying to correct himself - Elizavetha went away."  
Oh.  
Gilbert sighed.  
From his lips came out a strangely bitter voice , unintentionally choked.  
"What am I supposed to do with her?"  
"Have you always wanted her, right? Go on! - he shouted, furious as Gilber could not remember ever having seen him after, after that time... - Go!"  
The violet eyes suddenly bloodshot and resentment.  
Was he so on the verge of break up? Gilbert felt an icy hand of glass piercing his heart and tearing it.  
For her.  
Just for her.  
Obvious.  
Foregone.  
"Pft, dude, I though you were smarter."  
It was not like him to feel so violated by others, but Gilbert could not help but feel a little torn in pieces.  
Roderich left his collar, giving him yet another, icy, look.  
"Do not just let scruples now that it's too late."  
"She still loves you." Gilbert whispered, without looking him in the eyes, but with his head to the side.  
He could, however, inevitably, see the bewildered in Roderich, who frowned eyebrows, puzzled.  
"She has gone because of her country, but you can not really believe that it is possbile to have stopped loving you. - muttered, biting his lip - Stop acting like an emotional poof."  
"What do you know?"  
Roderich turned.  
"A little something."  
He had lost count ... from how much time was he trying to forget Roderich? to cease to love him?  
He couldn't remember a life before the obsession that was making him gangrenous.  
But the Austrian didn't understand.  
"What do you want: my laissez-passez to try seducing her?"  
Never understood.  
He had never understood.  
A shiver ran through Gilbert when he held Roderich by the arm and pulled him closer. He catched his lips, tasting them, savoring them, as if devour the soul.  
It was his only chance, after all.  
He squeezed his wrists, feeling it wiggling like crazy. They were electric shock, again.  
Loss, confusion, fear. Pleasure.  
Gilbert invaded Roderich's mouth with his tongue, flooded, drugged by that intoxicating aroma. It tasted like destruction.  
And blood.  
"Ah, hell, that hurt!"  
Roderich had bitten his tongue, dodging, then poured a punch in the face.  
"Let the curtain falling on your nonsense, once and for all."  
"Uh-u. - Gilbert leaned the back of his hand against his tongue, finding it stained red - We're touchy, eh?"  
"Your sense of humor is deplorable."  
The Prussian slowly blinked , and, as drawn from an unbearable heavy burden, as magnetized, his eyes turned to the floor.  
The room was dark, slightly dusty, sad. The books, even if used, also seemed to fend for themselves, trapped in alienating silenceand obscenely heavy sense of emptiness. Everything looked like a mausoleum and Roderich himself seemed a carved, hollow trunk.  
All because of her.  
All because of her.  
From Gilbert's mouth rolled out a mechanical chuckle , almost frail, almost broken.  
"To what extent do you love her?"  
"I do not see how it concerns you ..."  
"Your kind of love makes me sick. - Gilbert confessed, breathing heavily - You would let yourself die for her."  
Gilbert received a first original edition of Buddenbrooks in the face and threatened a serious head injury.  
"What do you know about my love? - Roderich shouted - I told you to leave."  
"I know you better than anyone else."  
Roderich let out a laugh, "Oh, please!"  
Gilbert felt pride torn, the soul ripped .  
"It's the things you do not say, I know all of them. - he bit his lip - I know them very well."  
How Roderich fiddled with his earlobe, when he was bored.  
The slight puff, as a whistle, he always did, when he was angry, but he could not show it.  
The marks of the nails on the arm.  
The way in which he shruggled his hair.  
How he liked the coffee.  
The slight glance that he addressed to Elizavetha, and only her, Damn!, only to her, when she was not looking.  
He knew all those secret and tacit traits.  
By heart.  
Thery were carved in him, engraved, ripping the flesh off.  
"... Why are you still here?"  
"I don't want you to love her that way, is so complete, so... so different from mine."  
The Austrian pianist frowned again, troubled. He tilted his face.  
"Gilbert. - Roderich whispered - Are you feeling bad?"  
He approached, then turned his face and looked him straight in the eye, that discovered to be trembling and tired, on the verge of something ... but of what?  
"Shit."  
The Prussian dodged shooting, hiding his face.  
"I still feel it."  
"What?"  
"I still have it in my mouth."  
His flavor.  
It was making him crazy. It was on a precipice and mental health seemed so far away.  
"I would never die for love."  
Roderich cocked an eyebrow, "Do you want a prize for it?"  
"... I'd kill for love."  
"Forget it.", he sighed. Then he groaned.  
Gilbert's hand pressed his wrist.  
"You ... ignite me."  
Roderich shivered.  
He wanted to say something, he wanted to understand, but he couldn't even stare. It was just absurd, absurd, absurd. Beyond the limit of ridiculous and straight in the definition of noxious.  
It was an harmful madness.  
Roderich tried to stammer, but he could only feel the dry breath coming from Gilbert, when he put the mouth on his. Then, without really knowing how or why, Roderich closed his eyes.  
But he didn't kiss back, he remained immobile.  
Like a dream.  
Gilbert broke away with a groan, "I guess now it's clearer even for you, little master, who I was chasing."  
"... must you call me 'little master' even now? It's annoying."  
"I am annoying."  
"For once, I agree with you."  
That said, Roderich swallowed, embarrassed, as if he had just realized at that time. He lowered his head, like he was disturbed by his own inability to rationalize.  
"It 's weird."  
"What?"  
"When your coordinates crumble. - a bitter, yet pleasant, taste still in his mouth - I always thought it was hate. Now I find out that it was ... what?"  
"The name is of little importance."  
Roderich gave him the driest of his looks.  
"Gilbert."  
"... Love, I guess."  
The worst confession of the universe, probably.  
The Austrian sighed.  
"So. - he put a finger on his chin - You critize my way of loving and then your consists of wars, fights and lies?"  
"Sort of."  
Almost a smile, "Your scale of values is degenerate."  
Roderich leaned the head on Gilbert's chest, touching him with his forehead, keeping his lips tight and breathing in the tired, static, morbid smell of the Prussian. His dark brown hair fell over sweetly and tired, silhouetted against Gilbert's a bit too pale skin.  
Gilbert hesitated, with his arms in the air, not knowing if, how, when, how. If.  
"I do not mind." the pianist said, as he read his mind.  
It 's this what happens when you live with someone for years? You learn how to understand people?  
Slowly, Gilbert held Roderich, pulling him closer and the Austrian seemed intoxicated by that taste, which he did not know if it could please him or not yet.  
"We are two pathetic beings, alone ... left on our own, in the middle of nowhere."  
Gilbert slowly lowered his eyelids, then opened slightly them again, silently.  
He said nothing.  
For him, the important thing was that his nowhere that was not too far from Roderich's one.


	2. Chapter 2

**2. The Hanged Man**

_If you want to play it like a game,_  
_well, come on, come on, let's play._  
_'cause I'd rather waste my life pretending,_  
_than have to forget you for one whole minute._  
- Crushcrushcrush, Paramore

You stabbed your eyes right into my core.  
You devoured my soul just with a bite.  
You never asked if you could, you never asked. No mercy, isn't it? A deal we both signed years ago, centuries ago, when also this - even this - seemed to have a sense. That's how it started.  
Fucking you, fucking me. A delicious foolish interlude in our façades.  
But your skin burns.  
And your eyes blaze and turn me into ashes.  
It's the perfect crime, isn't it? And every centimetre of your flesh is scorching from loathing and longing.  
And as you crash me against this bed, riding me, everything blurs.  
Too much desire can kill.  
An human soul, I am sure, can't bear all your greedy wickedness nor the perfect ivory of your skin. Or how black is your mouth, when you open it to catch mine.  
How much madness can I endure before crawling in your hollow heart?  
Your eager eyes are banqueting with my rationality.  
"Gil. - you murmure, bowing, moving - Are you here?"  
I put my hands on your hips, thrusting in you completely. Your moan seems to pierce me more than how much a sword could.  
And as I sink my teeth into your neck and try to break you, still... still I am the drowing one.  
You are the only one, the only one I ever met, who can make me feel like I was nothing.  
You pulverize me.  
Calling my name, screaming, tearing apart the curtains of the silence around us, your voice is haunting me. Even when you are not even here, I can hear it deep inside my brain.  
You enslaved me.  
I have a collar at my neck, an iron ball to my sanity.  
It's so heavy I'm drowing. In your purple eyes.  
"Faster."  
I overturn you, flattening you against the bed sheets. As your voice trembles and your mouth moans, I go deeper.  
I want to brand your flesh, all of it: softness, paleness, the burning desire you hide in your thights. I want to reduce you to my animal, to my slave.  
...because being the only one in this condition is driving me crazy.  
Wasn't it supposed to be just a foolish game?  
Pulling you hair, I can make you whine and clench your teeth, but still it's just a pose. It's acting, it's faking.  
You are still the one dominating me.  
Since the first of these hate fucks, because it's what they were. Now it's a loop knot around me.  
Do you remember the first time I was in you? Do you remember how we felt close to hate ourselfes but then, this sticky, wet game took over us?  
It's a game, it's just a game.  
A game in which I am played and you tear me apart usign as weapon my own desire.  
You put your arms around my neck, on my back, I sink in your flesh and you give a turbid moan.  
"Roder..."  
You shut me up, the sweetest way we know: a kiss with a bite.  
My lips' blood stains us all over, I clench my pincer, while I dig. Deeper.  
I will never forget, how soft and morbid at the same time the purple of your eyes can be.  
A rain of passion makes us soaked, but still we pretend we are dry and arid like a desert. And I don't know if I can stand it.  
Being the weak one.  
Being the one who wants more.  
Being the one who wants to admit it.  
I put my fingers in your mouth, thrusting more, coming with you- oh, those stupid poets who think that syncronized heartbeats and orgasms mean something. We are simply the same, but we are not even close.  
It's not even more simply wanting, it's not a caprice nor a desire. It's an urgency.  
It's me or nobody else.  
It's a choice I don't want to give you. Because I can't really risk you to go away.  
As I scream, I feel like everything around is hollow and empty, except from your body. You are sea cliff my waves shatter against.  
You are my end.  
And, in the end, I am yours.  
Your smell is my spell.  
I am beneath the waves of your poionous charm, you will be the death of me. I am sure there's a poem about it, once Feliciano told me, "Death will come and will have your eyes". Yes, it was something like that.  
Oh, dying like that, making this hateful, wrong, love. Looking in your purple icy eyes.  
This would be the most beautiful death ever.  
You are delicious, you are maleficent and magnificent- you are everything I don't need, I should be scared of how much I want you. Fuck, like I care.  
You turn to me, taking over me just touching my chest with your tapering fingers. All of you tastes like music and this disturbs me, it kicks me, because music is free, doesn't belong to anyone and you are just like that.  
How many lovers you had? Did they ever satisfied you?  
Did their name tasted the same as mine in your throat while moaning and cumming, dampening the sheets?  
"Do you want a second round?"  
I lay next to you, and you blink, confused.  
"Can I rest a while?"  
"Are you tired?"  
"A little."  
You smile, coming closer. As I shiver, your lips wide more, you sniff the scent of my hair and then, softly, sussure.  
"Do you want something to eat?"  
I snort, trying to hide my face in the pillow. I would just like you to kiss me.  
It's such a pathethic...  
"No, thank you, dandy."  
"I have a Sachetorte in the kitchen."  
"You always have one... seriously, have you a Sacher fetish?"  
"... I changed my mind, you don't deserve it."  
A little harsh, a little sour. Your voice is poisoned honey.  
Every single thing you do, it's a bite right into my flesh. And I bleed in your mouth, but you don't seem to notice. And my blood is useless.  
Look, even my eyes are red.  
Red, red, red. Everything but you, you who are so purple it's scary.  
Purple: red and blue.  
The passion and the coldness, the fire and the ice. We can touch and we still don't possess. I can make you mine and you still don't belong to me.  
So, exactly... who is the conductor of this game?  
I am used to be the winner, the stronger. Being stuk here, it's asphyxiating.  
You laid your head, breathing my hair.  
"Do you want it or not?"  
I hate your voice, when it becomes mellow like wax and envelops my heart. You make me feel the need to kiss you.  
I do.  
Harsh, hard, rough. The only type of kiss I am allowed to give you.  
Because I am allowed to eat you, to try to tear you.  
...these are the rules of the game.


	3. Chapter 3

**3. A curse**

_If I put my hands around your wrists, _  
_would you fight them?_  
_If I put my fingers in your mouth, _  
_would you bite them?_  
- Hatefuck, The Bravery

Looking at you like that, makes me smile. In the wicked way, obviously.  
Am I even able to smile sweetly?  
"Roderich."  
You turn, slowly. A glare, furiously silent and silently furious. I like you this way.  
You never bow, don't you?  
"Gilbert. - your voice is almost a grumble - What brought you here?"  
"Do I need an excuse to visit my dear crippled friend?"  
The humiliation runs long your spine, like a shiver.  
I would like to eat it, and lick you, all of your tender skin.  
"I was sure your ego didn't need this kind of fuel, I overrate you."  
Your anger is like aphrodisiac.  
"It's too much we don't have a good fight like in the old times."  
I sit next to you, on the wooden chair on the veranda, your look still avoid me, staring at the green leaves daggered by the sunlit of this July day. Your hands hold the whellchair.  
The doctors said that they don't know how much it will take for you to recor completely, that fall from the horse was really bad and they still can't understand how a good rider like you had the idea to be so reckless on that mountain path. But I can.  
It was the day she left.  
You brain froze, everything in you lost all his ice and you felt the flames running through your body, isn't it? Pain. Real pain.  
I would have liked to drink it.  
"I am not exactly in the mood."  
"Oh, why?"  
Your voice becomes sharper, "I don't know, something between being on a whellchair, facing a divorce and the insomnia."  
I frown.  
"Insomnia?"  
You give a sigh, I see your lungs folding up a little, "It's a month- no, two... I just don't sleep, and... wait, why do you care?"  
"It's boring when you are like that."  
"I should have imagined it."  
Your voice is bitter, sharp. You aftertaste is blood.  
I want to kiss you, since the first time I fought with you, since the first battle, during all these centuries, I just wanted to. How cold is your core, how much deep can the ice grow? I wanted to discover a part of your heart as soft as your body, digging, sinking my fingers through you, like a blade.  
"Austria.", tasting your name in my mouth, between my teeth.  
"How démodé from you, calling me like that."  
"Are you so fond of our human names?"  
You don't reply, your breathe becomes heavier. I blink, but you stare, at the gravel in the garden. The sun seems suddenly so cold.  
"Since when... he disappeared, I felt it would have been easier to be a man... - a strange, pointed smile - Then also Feli went away. - a cough - And now... Elizavetha."  
Oh.  
Yes, I suppose it may hurt. But I never really had anyone so, I can't actually be sure.  
"It is the way history goes. - you continue, without watching me - But it nauseates me."  
"Also human children die. - I shruggle my shoulders, trying to chase away the icy sensation - Also human kids abandon parents and also human women run away. Isn't it better that they did for their countries? It means they never meant to hurt you."  
"The cause does not change the actions. - you tremble, like a frail flower in the wind - In the end, I am alone."  
And me?  
Seriously.  
I come closer, I can almost feel your breathe. You are astonished, almost frozen.  
My lips on yours: is it enough real for you?  
You try to back away, but I stop your stupid mechanical wheels. You are rigid, scared, like ice of a flame.  
I want to melt you.  
I want to devour you. To swallow your heart and keep it inside me.  
You are mine.  
I hate you, I love you. Since so many time, I almost forget if it even makes sense.  
I catch you, I bite you, I chase you.  
You can't run. You can't run away, not this time.  
"Gil... - and if you try to speak, I'll shut you up, I'll cover your mouth with my pleasure, putting you on mute - ...ssia..."  
I hold your wrists and you can't fight me back this time. But you won't give up, and, in the end, it will be another of our little wars, of our useless and cruel plays.  
I hate you so much that I truly love you.  
I love you so much that I really hate you.  
Biting you neck, I feel your flesh becoming thicker and harder, the tnesion like a shock in your veins and the fear rising, like the sun.  
"Stop it."  
"Why?"  
Your shivers, they feed me.  
Your fear, it makes me want you more.  
Until when will you refuse to see? It doesn't exist a love more absolute than mine.  
I long for the side of you that nobody wants, I desire your weakness, your anger, your wicked brutality. And you mine, I know it, I am sure. I must be sure of it.  
The dephts, the grounds of your soul are my heaven.  
Can't you see, can't you feel it, as I kiss you?  
I let you fall to the ground, you try to move, but I'm all over you. I'm taking over.  
You must be mine, utterly mine.  
Your lungs must breathe my love, your heart must throb my obsession, your hands must reach out my name.  
I want you...  
"Stop it now."  
Your screams, so full of authority, even now, that you are under me.  
That's why I'll always love you, you are the only one... who can really see who I am. A beast, a beast you despise, a beast you can't leave without.  
I kiss you again, I stab and fill your mouth with my tongue. It's so warm inside you...  
I keep your wrists and I feel they are trying to rebel.  
You don't give up. You try to bite, to unsaddle me.  
When I separate, I can still hear your heartbeat in my head. It's like a damn thunder.  
It's a drum.  
A war drum.  
"...I don't want to."  
Your melodious dim is stunning me.  
Can't you, please, just stop to be? or just become mine, instead.  
It's scary how enourmous my desire is getting.  
Is it possible for an heart to collapse?  
Is it possible for me to explode?  
As I come close, I feel you shaking, with a quivering voice.  
"Not you too..."  
"I beg your pardon?"  
You shout and your voice seems to penetrate my flesh and break my bones.  
"I can't lose somebody again."  
...your eyes are watery.  
"Basch. - your breathe is irregular - Antonio. - quicker - The kids... Liza. - anxious, you shake your head, denying - I can't. Not another time."  
I block your face in my hands. Your respiration is troubled and laboured. You pant.  
Why the air seems so fragile as, glass, closer to your mouth?  
Why I feel like you are tearing the world apart just breathing?  
I want to close your fatigue with my lips again, I want to hold you - in that way, am I even able to do it? To be gentle? It's so out of character, so out of line to try to be your strenght.  
"I won't stop."  
"I don't-"  
"Not for this stupid reason."  
Jesus Christ.  
Centuries spent wanting your arms around my neck and, instead, being content with your blood and rage. I can't survive other centuries like that.  
My love is sick.  
My love is not what you need.  
But I won't disappear.  
I won't go anywhere. That's what makes me unique: you can't excape me.  
"Roderich."  
Your anger, your fear, your desire. I feel all those things right from the start. They are eternall, they are the same as mine.  
"If you want me to stop, - I swallow - ...the only way is telling me you don't want me now."  
You turn your head to the left.  
"But you won't."  
Your breath calms down, your eyes turning cold and finding again their composure.  
"You stooped so low... trying to force an invalid."  
"Do you want me?"  
"What's the sense in this?"  
"You can't lose me."  
You blink, confused.  
"I am... like a curse: you can't get rid of me."  
You incline your eyebrow, perplexed. I love how you do it, little snobbish dandy.  
"...it's the worst declaration I've ever heard, I hand it to you."  
"Thank you."  
I land a kiss on you, biting slowly your bottom lip.  
I feel your hand trembling and then touching my chest, undoing the buttons, I feel you running through my veins. I find it hard to admit it, but.  
This intoxication.  
This thrill of pleasure.  
This... is even better than war.


	4. Chapter 4

**[Glass]**

_We are shaped by the light we let through us,_  
_we break fast, 'cause we are glass._

_We might be oil and water, this could be a big mistake,_  
_we might burn like gasoline and fire._  
- Glass, Thompson Square

I am looking at you.  
I always did.  
We are irritatingly different, unbearably similar.  
I am your antithesis, but we are both dreamers to the core; we just let our eyes lingering on different horizons. Our foolish games, our wars, our anger.  
I never stopped looking at you.  
You are internally, innately fragile.  
Just like me.  
And, just like me, you spent centuries pretending to be strong.  
How many times you pretended to be cold? How many times you acted like you didn't actually care, while you felt your own love going wasted and your own flesh reduced to powder?  
You can easily pretend to be ice: your skin is pale, just like the sun in the winter days, you finger are tapering and slim, like dead wood, and everything in you reminds me of the snow of your mountains. You are a monument to an elegant solitude and a refined isolation, you spent centuries with everyone, but your heart never melted with anyone, isn't it?  
You are not so different from me.  
Still, you let yourself hope something good would have arrived and happiness with it.  
I always knew you didn't care about power, about war- that kind of stuff was mine, you just wanted to have someone close and not being alone anymore.  
But in all your centuries, year after year, blink after blink, you lost everyone.  
Your bestfriend, your first husband, your delicious wife, your protégé, your child.  
Your family shattered.  
Your family was never real.  
You are not ice, you are glass.  
Just like me.  
You can pretend to be something else with everyone else, but not with me. Because I am exactly the same.  
Once somebody said that white and black are closer to each other than to every other colour. Probably it's true.  
When you play your piano, with your stupid music I don't understand, you are so distant we don't even seem both nations; but, then, suddenly, when you close your eyes, chasing with those notes an ideal, an utopian state of mind, I finally see we are exactly the same.  
What I do with the sword, you do with music.  
What I search between corpses, you search between sheets.  
A whole new world, a place where our hearts will finally be able to stop feeling lost.  
Fernweh, farsickness, an ache for the distance.  
Does it even exist somewhere we could be better?  
I never stopped looking at you.  
Arrogance, elegance... a sophisticated shy guy, but so passionate. You don't even seem one of our family, always putting hobbies before duty, but even this only makes your more tempting.  
You never give up. You never surrender.  
But you are not really interested in fights.  
Your flame burns only for music, for your art, for the Beauty. My world, my value system, my whole being, to you... doesn't mean anything at all.  
I may seem a fool to you, isn't it?  
A greedy, irrational, cruel beast.  
But I'm not so bloodthirsty, so power-hungry, because of the brute force thrill.  
My pleasure is not subduing in itself.  
I just don't want they to look inside me anymore.  
I am alone. Terribly alone.  
Just like you are.  
Two beings made of glass, shattered glass.  
You covered yourself with beautiful, chiseled gold. I covered myself in raw, dirty blood.  
You spent centuries between weddings and marriages, trying to find purity and happiness, but feeling that cold, icy, emptiness inside. I conquered, hoping someday to find something good in rubble.  
I destroyed. You created.  
But we were still both alone.  
I always looked at your eyes.  
Purple.  
Like a flower, a gem: something useless, something merely decorative. Something beautiful.  
My eyes are red.  
Like blood: something useful, something deeply necessary. Something awful.  
And if I am a necessary Evil, you are the incredible Beauty that lies beneath the darkness.  
I hated you so many years; how many decades passed from our first fight?  
But, even if I always wanted to hurt you, it was not the kind of hate that is born from repudiation, but the one that is purely made of hunger.  
I want, always wanted, to bite you. To devour you.  
To tear you apart, sinking my teeth in your flesh and feeling your sweet scent in my mouth.  
You are what I always searched in my rubble.  
You are my far away somewhere.  
I want you, I want to hold you.  
Hold you so strong I could break all your bones- oh, yes, so you would never be able to go to anybody else.  
I want to chain your wrists to my heart, to nail you to my bones.  
We can't mix, we can't blend... but could we ever be apart?  
I desire you, I hate you.  
I loathe you, I long for you.  
You, you alone. I never wanted anybody else, in my life.  
I want your hands against my skin, I don't even care if trying to push me away or pulling me closer. You are everything I crave for.  
Why didn't you ever looked at me that way?  
Can't you feel how the air, the space, between us becomes like an heavy, dense, burden on our chests? Didn't you ever- just... thought at me... like your black hole?  
Your gravity is crushing me.  
You annihilate my self-control and I find myself becoming my own desire of sinking in you.  
You are glass and I want to shatter you.  
...and feel you cutting me, until I can die, bleeding to death, in your arms.  
In the rubble of the only thing I ever wanted-  
Loved.  
Can't you see?  
I am staring.


	5. Chapter 5

**I Caught Fire**

**.  
**

Your eyes are like pure din.

There is not a trace of harmony in you, not a trace of grace.

Not a single note of sweetness on your lips.

There you are, in my bed, sound asleep, breathing in and out. And your chest is pale, is sharp, your thick is neck, your jaw is angular. You are ungraceful.

And when you are awake, your personality is even worse: nervous, blunt, bold, arrogant.

You are like pure violence to my senses.

You are a bitter taste that won't leave my mind. And everytime we are here, everytime we touch and swim in the flood, those nights leave me so brittle.

And tired.

You make me feel like I caught fire and I'm burning.

Quickly, inevitably.

I can't avoid it.

Both loving and hating you.

Both wanting and loathing you.

I would just like to wash away all these feeling, like in a bath, where the flowing makes me clean again. You stain me, continuously.

Loving you is out of line- it's ridicolous, it's detrimental. It's everything I am supposed not to do.

But here we go again: my bed, yours, searching each other like we couldn't breathe without trying to suffocate us. You would throttle me and I would strangle you, everytime, everyday.

You and your red eyes, that are so mighty and intense.

They can't leave me, even when I close my eyes.

You are like them: a violent colour that never leaves me.

You are the colour fo the blood, that flows in my veins.

I just want to shake you off my skin and my heart, try to learn how lo live again, without you, without loving and hating, without waiting.

Without you.

I forgot how it was before you... did it ever existed? Actually.

I mean, there was a time when I didn't felt like this, I am sure, but I can't seem to remember how it was. How I felt.

...empty, I dare to say.

I try to go out of the bed, but you take my arm.

"...you are awake, then."

"Just since a few minutes. - your voice is thick and heavy with sleep - Stay here."

"I have to go."

You should let my wrist go but, instead, you just clench it more.

"I have to."

"You don't. "

You hiss, then let me go, like I was some sort of disgusting garbage. Like I was the one making you dirty, when you are the one corroding me.

With a deep sigh, I search my shirt. Where did you threw it, in the outburst of your hungry? You and your stupid impetuous flush of possession...

"Why are you going away? - you burst, fed up - Nobody is waiting for you, anyway."

As I lower my eyes and avoid to look at you, I know you are turning again to the pillow, pretending to want to sleep again, but just not wanting to admit you feel betrayed.

What do you expect me to do? What do you expect me to want?

I gave you a lot more of my life; I sacrificed my honour admitting I wanted you. I gave to you my pride, I volunteered for being wasted and destroyed by your so-called Love.

Is it Love, Gilbert, or is just possessiveness?

Are you longng for me, yearning for me or your greed, your lust and thirst are just for owning me?

This thing will kill us both. Are you... is it... are you so foolish?

Do you play only for kill, right?

You must perceive how I am lingering on my doubts, 'cause you come here, close, and hold my arm again.

"Stay."

"No, Prussia, no."

"Gilbert. - you almost scream, you seem so fragile, your mouth quivering with anger - When we are alore, I am Gilbert."

"Fine."

I love you.

"Stay..."

If you could just ask me to stay without promising me only sufference and sex. What am I to you, exactly to you? You have all this inner jokes, this things that "are only between us", all this confidence, this intimacy, this... and then you still can't love properly. You are a child.

You are a kid pretending to be able to play an adult game.

"Why do you always act like this? - you shout - It's not even a real marriage. She's just a friend and it was arranged."

"It's more than that and you know perfectly."

"Don't use the princess specs pitch with me. I recognize your lies."

"I am not lying, Prussia, this is History. We can't do as we want."

"Gilbert, when we are..."  
"When are we alone, when? When? When!"

I yell, and I didn't meant to. I never meant to.

Look at us, look at the mess we are.

How can we pretend to be something decent?

And then you hold me, and I smell your scent of horses and gunpowder. And a slight perfume you probably tried to suffocate them with.

But they rose. They always do.

We are not free.

I can't stay here, not with you, you would only destroy my people and I would only disappoint you, because all your bloodlust I can't understand and you can't see the beauty of my music.

I caught fire.

And I am burning.

But you can't see my light.

You can't be blinded by how much I love you, because you can't read it in my shivers, in my glances, in my notes. Here he go again, you say you recognize when I tell lies, but, tell me, can you read my truth?

"Don't you love me?", you murmure.

And your hoarse voice is so rough and so sweet. You are like velvet and steel.

"I do."

"Then why don't you-?"

"Because I hate the way I love you."

"What's this supposed to me: again some philosophical shit?"

"It's unhealthy. Look, it's me, going against my people's will and you not considering yours and... it's not the right moment, it's not the right time, we- we are not meant to and we can't act like we don't have any responsabilities."

"We could... if we both became one with somebody else, like his regions, then we would be free."

"This is madness."

I don't even recognize you anymore.

Are you so... crazy? Would you do something so painful and ridicolous just for...

Is it a delirium or is it a lie?

But the idea of you really wanting me so much terrorize me even more than the idea of you trying to make a fool out of me.  
"Listen, Roderich, what's more important?"

"What?"

"Roderich or Austria: what's more important?"

No.

No, no.

Don't ask me that. Don't.

I feel it.

I feel the fire devouring my flesh.

I feel the fire crying in my bones.

I feel the fire annihilating my mind.

Don't ask me.

"I... - I shake my head, I can't sacrifice so much - A nation's... - my lips are bitter, I bite them and I feel my words poisoning me - A nation's duty is to protect his people. From every kind of injury or humilation."

I see you, even without looking at you. I know you.

Your veins getting more visible through your skin, you teeth gritting, your own pride wrings.

Do you hate me now?

But I cannot act like I am completely human.

You canìt say anything, not anymore. You just fume and scorch and blaze.

You can just hate me, more than what we did for centuries, more than what we did for all the time before... now, now I remember, yes, how it was before you.

Beautiful.

Beautiful and empty.

Empty.

As hell.

It was hell.

I turn and I go to the door and I can only hope the chords of my heart won't cry this requiem for too many centuries. I can only hope my music will be happy again.

But my hands shiver on the doorstep and my hinges seem to collaps.

I feel it. I am burning.

I am probably already charred and condemned.

I hear your silence: you are not going to bed again, you are not saying anything, you just stay behind me, hoping me to change my mind. Hoping me to...

You will only destroy me.

You will be the death of me.

You will.

"...we will never be one. - I feel my soft voice becoming a thin whisper - But we can't neither be apart."

I turn and I see you looking at me.

Your violent red eyes scorching my soul.

I wll let you burn me.

"This won't affect our countries. It's just, Roderich and Gilbert. - I try to clarify but you are not even listening to me - Promise it."

"I doubt I could hurt you more now than what I did with Slesia."

Asshat.

"Promise it anyway."

"I think I already said what I consider more important."

You hold onto me, taking over my mouth, clenching my wrists. Again.

Where you touch, it always a fire always break out.

* * *

This one was for Serikio's B-day 3 ! I adore you, darling!


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